


Kansas forevermore?

by TrenchcoatsandMisery



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Bisexual Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon Ships It, Cursed Jaskier | Dandelion, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, M/M, Memory Loss, Modern Era, Monsters, Musician Jaskier | Dandelion, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, People don't know about it though, Pining, Prophetic Visions, Song Lyrics, Supportive Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Witcher Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:01:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22818940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrenchcoatsandMisery/pseuds/TrenchcoatsandMisery
Summary: Somehow, at some point in the past 24 years, trouble has taken a liking to Jaskier.Jaskier is just trying to survive, pay his rent, maybe make it big in the music world if he can. At the moment though, things couldn't possibly get worse.Surprisingly, they do.Cue a golden-eyed man who seems to know him (like,reallyknow him), a beautiful woman who insists she's a mage, and terrifying, potentially prophetic visions showing him monsters and creatures the likes of which he's never seen before. All of which seem to insist he used to be Jaskier, a warrior bard hero, and that his destiny awaits.Well, at least he's got something to write songs about now.(Title from the song "A new brain" by I fight dragons, which inspired the story)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 72
Kudos: 357





	1. Jaskier kickstarts his destiny Shit faced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this. While I've had absolutely amazing responses to my work, I wasn't quite happy with this chapter. So i've redone it (still the same core plot) and hopefully will have an actual second chapter in a couple days.

Somehow, at some point in the last 24 years, it appears trouble has taken a liking to Jaskier. If he were to write a song about it, which he damn well might considering his writer's block lately, comparing trouble to a stray cat fit best. Yes, he fed it once, but now it comes and goes through his life as it pleases, rubbing against his ankles affectionately as he goes about his business. No harm done, at least not until he stumbles over it straight into awkward, vaguely humiliating and occasionally dangerous situations. There’s not much he can do about it besides booting the mangy thing out of a window. And, well, he can’t do that because it’s not a real cat. Metaphors can only go so far. But Jaskier doesn’t mind it so much now anyway, what can he say, he’s had time to adjust. 

Tonight though, absolutely nothing can go wrong.

Which, predictably, means it does in fact go terribly, horribly wrong

The novelty of being booed off stage by a crowd of hipsters throwing gluten-free bread at you wears off pretty quickly. Combined with the fact that most of them are also filming this on their phones, it becomes something of a tedious experience. Jaskier prides himself on his ability to wade through the ocean of _absolute shit_ that life seems to throw him in, but tonight is different. Tonight he hides. Darting through a storm of ciabatta, he makes a beeline to a bathroom stall. There he crouches on the closed toilet and thinks, a little about what just happened but mainly about the frozen burrito awaiting him at home. Imagines leaving this overpriced bar, heating it up in his tiny apartment kitchen, consuming it with his hands as he sits on the kitchen floor staring blankly ahead. L-U-X-U-R-Y.

But even after the trashcan fire that was 10 minutes ago, he knows how pathetic that sounds. Things can’t possibly get much worse, so new plan. Better to call the night quits and get shitfaced then spend the rest of it wallowing in self-pity. And honestly, after pasting on his trademark grin and marching back into the bar, it goes pretty well. The witnesses of his torment seem to find it funny to keep paying for his drinks in the hope of further humiliation caught on camera, and who is Jaskier to stop them. 

Surprisingly, after a couple of hours, he still feels crappy. Except now he’s drunk. And he kinda wants a cigarette. He’s sure he has one somewhere in his jacket, but he lost his lighter in after a quick getaway from a lovely young ladies room. Without a lighter, he might as well go home… He could probably light it on the stove if he tried hard enough. With a sigh, Jaskier manages to get himself up and on his feet, stumbling outside, turning right and promptly smacking into a wall of solid muscle. 

Slowly, very slowly, Jaskier looks up.

Golden eyes look back.

Jaskier must be drunker than he thought.

“Hey, could you, uhh, move?”

The man actually _growls_ at him. Jaskier would probably find it funny if he wasn’t having a night from hell.

“Listen, I’m sorry if I caused any offence. But- wait. You wouldn’t happen to have a lighter on you by chance?“

The man just stands there looking at him. Jaskier isn’t sure if he heard, or maybe the guy doesn’t speak English, so shoves a hand into his pocket and pulls out a slightly battered cigarette and…  
A piece of bread. 

Both men stare at the pitiful lump of dough in silent confusion. It must have gotten caught in his jacket during the hipster’s attack. Jaskier is starting to sober up, his head hurts, and the awkward silence has started to go on for just a little too long. 

“So, lighter? You wouldn’t want to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting.”

It’s weak, he knows that, but he follows it up with a charming grin, waggling the bread in the air for emphasis. It seems to work, because Golden eyes face turns from pissed off bear to kicked dog. Sadly, for Jaskier, it seems to work a little too well because not only is this guy not handing him a lighter but is instead reaching out to touch his face.

“Whoa, there big guy! Don’t know what you’re doing right now, but please stop?”

The man looks confused now, eyes flicking from the guitar at Jaskier’s side, his face, his clothes.

“Jaskier?”

“Oh, I get it. You’re one of those crazed fans. Well, I’m afraid white-haired, big ol’ loners with two very, very scary looking swords- Jesus, is that even legal? Surely you need, like, a permit or something? Anyway, you can’t just go grabbing people. It’s not nice.“

“I- You don’t know me?”

His voice is… Desperate. Those eyes are searching his face like he’s looking for something, anything, and Jaskier has nothing to offer him.

“No. Sorry. Do you want me to-“

And then the man is walking away from him. Jaskier stands there staring dumbly at the man's retreating back. When he finally snaps out of it, now a little more sober from the experience and kinda angry he didn’t even get his cigarette, Jaskier makes his way home and collapses on his couch in a heap of limbs. Tomorrow, he’ll go out and buy a lighter and maybe look at some job offers online. Everything will be normal. The terrible, slightly weird night is over that is the end of that.

In reality, it’s only the beginning.


	2. Jaskier asks himself who the hell is Geralt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"They say she's crazy, and maybe they're right_  
>  _Far worse than lions and bears, she's cursed with visions at night"_
> 
> Jaskier normally dreams about being famous, having sex and once on a more memorable occasion, a talking guitar that ate his hands. 
> 
> What he doesn't normally dream about is being a bard to a Witcher called Geralt. He isn't even sure what that means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is terrible, really just introducing the fever dream visions. Please enjoy!

_Jaskier has been travelling on the road for a couple of weeks now. He’s found that there is a feeling of freedom that comes from this kind of wild roaming, a sense of accomplishment in those miles walked and blistered feet. Really, he’s been enjoying himself. But right now? All those positives mean nothing, nada, they’re dead to him. Because at this moment in time, Jaskier is not strolling through the woods. Nor is he waxing poetry to a busty barmaid with an ale in hand, or even chin deep in a warm inn’s bath._

_No._

_He’s standing in a foggy cemetery freezing his buttocks off, his favourite shoes splattered with mud. There are sounds of a fight floating through the mist, but Jaskier can’t seem to muster anything more than mild annoyance. A fight, that he can’t even see, who Mr ‘Tough guy Witcher’ said would only take a minute and that Jaskier should watch Roach. It’s been, what, an hour? And he’s spent that time shifting from foot to foot while roach chews on some old grass. He can’t even sing, not with the danger it poses to both him and his companion. Not to mention, the atmosphere here is truly dreadful and quite off-putting._

_A shout sounds out, which Jaskier ignores in favour of trying to wipe some dirt off his boot. The second shout, louder and closer, is what makes him look up. Maybe it’s nothing but that sounded a little pani-_

_“JASKIER!”_

_That shout has him running, scrambling over grave markers and fallen branches, straight into the fog. Because this isn’t a cry of annoyance, or even triumph. This is a desperate, pained shout for help. He never calls for Jaskier's help. Never. Which is why Jaskier is charging blindly forwards towards the noise, hoping that the dread rising in his chest was simply an overreaction. Witcher’s are made of strong stock. He’s probably fine._

_He is not._

_The creature is dead, which is good. Jaskier doesn’t think he could deal with that right now. But the Witcher is covered in gore, so much that Jaskier can’t tell which is his or the headless aghoul in front of him. He moves quickly to the man, falling to his knees beside him._

_“Oh gods, Geralt. What the hell happened?”_

_Golden eyes meet him, and bloody hands reach out to caress Jaskier’s face._

_“Remember Jaskier. You have a destiny, someone you’re supposed to be. Far from your life, there are answers to be found.”_

_Geralt lets out a shuddered breath._

_“Find me Jaskier. Find Yennefer. Please.”_

_He thinks he opens his mouth to say something, but everything's going black, fading around the edges as he_

Wakes up with a gasp. His heart is thundering in his chest, shirt soaked with sweat, breath coming in heaves. When it slows, when he realises he’s in his room, in his bed, he pauses.

“Who the **fuck** is geralt?”

No answers come to him, and the harder he tries to think about it the more the dream fades. He doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night, hunched over his desk scrawling down lyrics, and desperately trying to rid himself of the imprint of golden eyes when he closes his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the song it's based on: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bk7GB1c119M aka New brain by I fight Dragons
> 
> Thank you guys for all the support so far, I know this was one was quite small but I promise the next one will be longer. Toss a comment to your writer! (I've always wanted to say that.)


	3. Jaskier gets angry exactly three times (Valdo, Not-raccoons, Sexy lady)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"After the windstorm, after the dream_  
>  _Stuck back in Kansas, she wants to scream_  
>  _They say she's crazy, and maybe they're right"_  
>    
> Oh man, oh boy, those are not raccoons.
> 
> Starring the scoundrel Valdo Marx, trash goblins and a woman whose vibe is the definition of tposing

Jaskier must have passed out last night because he wakes up at his desk with the pages of his lyric notebook stuck to his face and ink staining his hands. He groans, back cracking unpleasantly as he rises to his feet. Reaches out to check the phone beside him, scans through the notifications.

(“Even weeds with flowers should be cut away: Hit musician Valdo Marx’s scathing review of indie musician Dandelion”)

If Jaskier had a penny for every time Valdo Marx reared his big-nosed and untalented face, he wouldn’t be living in a leaky 1 bedroom apartment. If he had one wish it would be for that bastard to be struck down by apoplexy and die, painfully. But he has neither of those things, so for now, all he can do is write a cleverly formulated response to absolutely destroy that scoundrel.

He does this for a whole hour before he gets a phone call from Anarietta, asking him to do what all poor 20-year-olds do, which is wandering about the town aimlessly bemoaning their troubles. He slips on his coat, tucks his lyric notebook into his pocket and heads out.

...................................................

From the amount of screeching and clanking coming from the bins, Jaskier would say that there is a small group of raccoons attempting to form a death metal band in the alley beside him. Their efforts seem to be paying off, because while Jaskier is wincing at the clamour, Anarietta seems to be content in ignoring it. She’s trying to tell him something or other about her boyfriend, and Jaskier is trying to concentrate, truly, but the noise is so utterly distracting any gossip is going straight over his head. Which is how he finds himself huffing and marching into the alley ready to yell at some animals, for surely if they can’t quite understand him, the sheer volume of his whining might be able to shut them up.

But

They’re

Not raccoons.

Neither are they rats, or cats, or even stray dogs. These _things_ are shaped like children, in the way that they are small and humanoid but not at all close in appearance to an actual child. Because these have claws, and sickly grey flesh and glowing red eyes that lock onto his.

“What. The. Fuck.”

Anarietta appears by his shoulder and lets out a gasp, and Jaskier isn’t sure why but he finds himself moving in front of her and reaching towards his back as if there was something he was expecting to be there. Not a weapon, not in the way that the action is more defence instinct then offence, but there should be _something_. Adrenaline is coursing through his veins and his muscles tense, but again for what he’s not quite sure. He’s ready to defend Anarietta, until she makes an exaggerated fake puke sound right in his ear. That definitely ruins the moment.

“Someone hasn’t taken the trash out for a while. Jeesh. Why do we even pay tax if binmen aren’t gonna do their job?”

He looks at her, then at the creatures who are still crouched in the dumpster, chittering away at each other.

“Anarietta, I really don’t think that this is the time to be joking around.”

“What’s that Dandelion? Didn’t think you had such a strong opinion about our cities trash disposal. Anyway, I don’t know why you’re looking so horrified. It’s just an alley and some trash.”

She doesn’t see them. He wonders if perhaps she’s in shock, that’s a thing right? But nope, she’s started on about “Raymund kinda likes feet and I just don’t know if this is a line I want to cross,” and she has no idea that there is a small horde of goblin, children things eating trash a few metres away. He’s still staring at the things when Ana punches his arm.

“Hey asshole, if you’re not gonna listen, I’m just going to go. I’ll see you tomorrow. Have fun with your trash I guess.”

Jaskier hums in agreement, though that might have been in his head. But he stays looking at the creepy little things for who knows long until someone taps him on the shoulder.

“Strange little beasties aren’t they?”

Jaskier has seen his fair share of beautiful women. He’s always had a love of beautiful things, and it shows in his love life. This women though is absolutely stunning. Curly raven hair cascading down her chest, slender waist, violet eyes framed by dark lashes.

And Jaskier instantly dislikes her.

It’s a strange feeling, this sudden dislike. It’s not hatred, not quite, just a deep discomfort at her presence. He feels ungainly like he has done something wrong, and for that he finds himself resenting this perfect stranger who has just approached him. She even smells good, like gooseberries, which is _worse_ because it makes his head hurt and his stomach clench. Something must be showing on his face because she smiles.

“So it is you. I thought perhaps he was mistaken, but I guess I was wrong. So. How do you feel about a spot of lunch?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absolutely thrilled at the responses! Thank you so very much. Keep tossing those comments, especially with any notes or questions. 
> 
> Sneaky references I made this chapter:
> 
> \- valdo marx being a little bitch, also jaskier wishing him to die of apoplexy 
> 
> -when he sees the creatures, jaskier reaches for his lute. Obviously, he has no memory of owning a lute so doesnt understand why his first instinct is to use it to protect anarietta
> 
> \- anarietta is dandelion's love interest and is married to a weird guy called raymond.
> 
> -the little creatures are nekkers. 
> 
> \- jaskoer doesnt hate yennefer but he still holds that jealousy and resentment from when she was with geralt. That's why even when he cant remember who she is he feels lesser, some part of him is remembering how geralt picked her over him.


	4. Jaskier gets interrogated at a fancy lunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier has never liked fancy restaurants. He finds greasy takeout both easier and cheaper. Spending $40 on a pretty ok burger is not a funtime for him. Neither is being confronted by images of a past life.

A beautiful woman is sitting across from him. This is fine.

She’s been talking about the wine list for at least ten minutes while the waiter nods insightfully. This is slightly annoying, but still fine.

What is decidedly _not_ fine is the fact that the waiter appears to have pointed ears. Not in the “I bought these on eBay and think they make me look edgy and special” way. In the “These are my actual ears, I have pointed ears, I may actually be a real-life fucking elf” way. Admittedly maybe not in that exact wording, but close to it.

Jaskier isn’t sure how to deal with this information. He briefly considers denial, there’s a chance it could be a birth defect right? Sure, it’s not just the ears, the man's teeth are a little off too, but elf is not a particularly compelling explanation. A little bump in the genes though, that's a perfectly acceptable answer to this ridiculous question.

But.

It’s not a birth defect. It sounds stupid, but something is telling him that this waiter is not human and he feels compelled to listen. So instead of denial, he has gone for a different, three-pronged approach. This includes staring at the saltshakers, hunching his shoulders in an attempt to disappear, and resolutely ignoring the weirdness that has become this day. It’s working well until the woman starts talking to him.

“Jaskier, you can stop looking like someone pissed in your water and look up again. He’s gone.”

She makes him uncomfortable. It’s not just this strange dislike bubbling right beneath his skin. She puts him on edge, yet it feels almost familiar. And her eyes are always, always watching him with some foreign emotion lurking in their violet depths.

“Are you just going to sit there and scowl at me, bard?”

“I’m not a bard.”

There. Right there, that flicker in her eyes. While her face stays in that slightly wicked grin, her eyes darken ever so slightly.

“No. I suppose you’re not. You look the same, Jaskier. Hair’s a little darker, a little longer maybe, but the same.”

“Listen, lady, I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. Heck, we’ve never even met before! So please, for the love of God, tell me why you dragged me to have lunch with you and- **please** stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

The waiter interrupts with an awkward cough, arriving with his burger and her salad. Jaskier can’t help his flicking a glance to the ears this time, and the waiter almost drops the plates when Jaskier meets his eyes, running away like a scalded cat. Frowning he picks up his burger, looking up at the woman who scowls.

“It’s rude to stare Jaskier.”

“So I’m not going mad? You can see them?”

“Yes, and apparently you can too. For how long?”

He drops his burger abruptly, shoving his chair back and rising to his feet.

“I can’t do this. I won’t do this. I’m not playing these game with you yen, I want answers and I want them- What are you smirking at?”

She takes a sip of the wine she took so long to pick and leans forward conspiratorially. 

“You called me Yen.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Why would I call you Yen? I don’t like you enough to call you by a nickname, Yennefer.”

He stops. Yennefer. The violet-eyed woman is called Yennefer, even though she didn’t tell him her name and he _definitely_ didn’t ask. Jaskier isn’t quite sure what’s happening right now but it is most certainly **not fine**. And _Yennefer_ is just… sitting there, smiling at him like a cat sitting down to a fricassee canary after a long day of being a pompous asshole.

“Why do I know your name.”

“Why wouldn’t you know my name, bard? I know that’s we weren’t that close but, c’mon. I never thought you were slow, but perhaps in the last few decades your mind went soft.”

His head hurts. He can’t… He can’t do this. He is aware he’s still standing, finds he’s moving away from the table, from her. He bumps into the elf waiter, staggers back, and underneath the thundering blood in his ears mumbles an apology.

He’s running _(where?)_

He’s hiding _(from who?)_

he’s  
crying  
maybe  
laughing  
maybe both

Things might not be fine anymore.  
////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////  
Jaskier stumbles away from Yennefer, and she can’t help but feel disappointed. He remembered her name, which is progress, but his reaction wasn’t that encouraging. She might not have handled it the best but she wasn’t expecting this today. She’d kept an eye on him ever since Geralt had come to her shaken, but watching him standing at the mouth of that alley watching the Nekkers in the trash… That was a sign. This isn’t though, not the panic in his eyes nor the way he basically ran out of the restaurant. She takes a swig of wine, then another. 

“Excuse me, ma’am. Your, uh, your friend dropped this.”

She takes offered notebook, thanking then elven waiter. Flips through it idly, smiling softly at the lyrics and ink dandelion that curl across the pages. Pauses on the most recent page. Lets out a soft laugh.

“Oh, Jaskier. There’s hope for you yet.”

They’re hastily written, but it’s definitely them. 

_The call of the White Wolf is loudest at the dawn_  
_The call of a stone heart is broken and alone_  
_Born of Kaer Morhen_  
_Born of No Love_  
_The song of the White Wolf is cold as driven snow…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grammarly: There are 24 mistakes!!!  
> Me, who has been trying to write this for 3 days: please....just...let me live...
> 
> I hope you can forgive me for the 24 mistakes. I will admit I am not vibing with the way I'm writing this, so rewrites may be on the horizon, but for now here we go.


	5. Geralt pines from the shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst! Love? Hope!

Jaskier knows he’s being watched. Geralt has tracked enough prey in his lifetime to when they’ve caught onto his presence. It’s in the way he pauses as he’s locking his apartment door, the tense line of his shoulder as he walks down the street. And even though Geralt knows that Jaskier knows, he can’t seem to stop. Because the bard looks the same.

He hadn’t recognised him at first. It’s been centuries since the mountain, since the last time Geralt ever saw him. He’d heard years later the bard had returned to Oxenfurt to teach, had eventually received a letter to inform him that Julian Alfred Pankratz, the bard formerly known as Jaskier, had passed away and that the white wolf himself was invited to the funeral. He had ridden for four days and had missed it by one. There was nothing left but a gravestone surrounded by dandelions and a lute set aside for Geralt on his arrival, the note attached to it short and sweet.

_“For my oldest friend,_  
_I forgive you.”_

He hadn’t returned to Oxenfurt for years, even as its name changed and it became “Oxford”. He’d only stopped in the town to deal with the local Nekker problem that a source had contacted him about. But the blue-eyed man with the charming smile had grinned at him in that dark alley, had pulled out the piece of bread from his pocket, and everything had come rushing back like they were still standing in that inn in Posada. So he’d reached out.

And It had gone terribly, horribly wrong.

Jaskier hadn’t even recognised him. The bard had said the same words he’d said to Geralt all those years ago, but with hesitance rather than daring.

They say Witcher’s don’t have hearts. But in that moment his broke.

There’s a chance that it’s not him. Jaskier has most certainly been dead for many, many years and there are plenty of blue-eyed musicians with dashing smiles floating about Oxford. But they’re still the _**same words**_ and while Geralt has fought destiny before, this time he’s doesn’t think he’s got the fight in him to call this a coincidence. So, he follows him and makes sure Jaskier is safe. Which is how he ends up storming into the restaurant moments after Jaskier leaves it.

“What did you do Yennefer.”

She quirks a perfect brow at him.

“Glad you finally decided to come out of the shadows, Geralt. I was wondering when you’d show. And as to what I did… I simply asked him some questions.”

She motions to the seat in front of her.

“Sit down Witcher. Would you like to know what happened? Or are you going to keep standing there glaring at me?”

He sits, and for a moment they just stare at each other. Yennefers nails tap against the leather cover of a notebook grasped in her hands.

“He looks the same.”

“Hm.”

“Hair’s a little longer.”

“Hm.”

“I mean, even his eyes-“

Geralt growls, fists clenching against the tablecloth.

“I _know_ Yen. I know.”

She hums thoughtfully, head tilted as she watches him, searching for something in his expression. She must find it, as she nods once and then places the notebook onto the table, sliding it over. He picks it up. Opens it. Takes a deep breath in as he reads the words scrawled elegantly across the first page, reading them softly under his breath.

 _ ~~Julian Alfred Pankratz~~_ _Jaskier_

Every page is filled, lyrics and drawings and notes all written in **Jaskier’s handwriting.** His bard. He flicks through this notebook hungrily, this old and worn thing that chronicles this new Jaskier’s entire life, every thought and feeling written in black biro on dog eared pages.

“Read the last page, Geralt.”

He had forgotten Yen was still there, forgotten it wasn’t just him and the notebook alone. But he does as she asks, finds more of these lyrics in perhaps slightly poorer handwriting, but Jaskier’s all the same.  
It isn’t titled yet, only a couple of stanzas on paper, but there’s no doubt it’s about Geralt. Just seeing the words ‘White Wolf’ sends a jolt down his spine, brings him a kind of relief he’d never, ever admit to Jaskier face to face. Explaining why the fact Jaskier still writes songs about Geralt, even though Geralt protested them at every opportunity, brings him so much joy is not something Geralt could stomach. If he truly thinks about it though, that’s a lie. He’d say anything if it meant that Jaskier remembered him. This song is about him, not only that, it mentions Kaer Morhen. He looks back up at Yennefer.

“There’s no way he could have made this up. It’s him.”

Yennefer reaches over and lays a hand over his.

“It’s him. But Geralt, he doesn’t remember.”

“Fuck off. The book proves he does.”

She sighs.

“The book _proves_ that he’s beginning to remember. You said it yourself, he didn’t recognise you. He remembered my name but had no idea how. I think this is Jaskier, but not _our_ Jaskier.”

Her hand pulls back and she gives him a soft smile.

“It appears destiny isn’t done with you yet. I can look at some spells, see if we can speed up the process but… You have to realise Geralt, Jaskier’s soul has come back for a reason. People don’t just get, dare I even say it, reincarnated for no reason. Fate has a purpose for him and it’ll show itself soon. Don’t do anything rash, because right now? You are like a memory on the tip of his tongue, who looks at him like he holds your heart in his hands, who he has no reason to remember yet feels like he should. Please Geralt. We’ll do something, but that something has got to be considered.”

He thinks back to the motel he has to return too, the lute carefully wrapped and hidden in the room’s wardrobe. Thinks of the smiling man he left on that mountain, who died without him by his side, who still after all that time let Geralt know he’d been forgiven. And he nods, face solemn.

“Of course.”

Some part of her knows that he’s lying. They both know there is no way that Geralt can walk away again. But she lets him get away with it, doesn’t protest when he takes the notebook with him.

They say Witcher’s don’t have hearts. But in this moment his heart is pounding in his chest at the thought of blue eyes. And if he’s smiling, just a quirk of his lips, well. He has hope for the first time in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it bad I cried a little writing this? I can't complain that much because honestly that's on me, I didn't have to make Geralt and Jaskier never meet again after the mountain, but hey. You can't be in the Witcher fandom without being hurt a little right? *Pause as I let out a little sob*
> 
> Any questions, theories or sad/angry/sad-angry rants just toss a comment to your writer! Corny of me, but seriously, I love the support I've received from this fandom and sometimes it motivates me to get up off my ass and actually update (The above chapter is proof of this.)


	6. Jaskier is sleep deprived

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier unravelling like a pile of cheap rope. He gets very introspective. There's a surprise face.

Things are beginning to change. It’s slow, but sure, small things that refuse to be ignored.

Pointed ears are definitely one of these little things. He doesn’t know what happened that made him start seeing them, but he wishes he could go back to before that point, because suddenly they're everywhere. His neighbour, the bus driver, the man watching him from the car outside his apartment. That’s another thing. On a better day, Jaskier might think it flattering that his music is influential enough to get him a stalker, but the whiff of gooseberries and lilac that the man leaves behind suggest otherwise. A servant of Yennefer sent to… what? Intimidate him? Guard him? He finds himself closing his curtains more often now as the paranoia sinks in, buys another lock for his door, stays inside as often as possible.

A week ago his biggest problem was paying rent, which while still very much a concern, was now overshadowed by the much more pressing matters at hand. The fact he kept seeing elves for one, because that’s the only thing they could possibly be. A woman who seems to know him hiring one of these elves to watch him, that’s pretty high up there. Strange creatures that couldn’t really exist, not when he was the only person who seemed to be able to see them. Oh. And the knock on his door at 2:30 am, which revealed someone had returned his lost songbook after filling out the lyrics of the song that came to him in a **fucking** dream, in a way that slotted perfectly with the tune.

Things are changing, and Jaskier can’t take it for much longer. He’s coming apart at the seams, constantly on edge, but most of all? He’s tired. He’s so, so tired. And he can’t go to sleep, won’t go to sleep, because when he sleeps he dreams.

At first, it was only glimpses, disjointed and random.

_A flash of silver, a sword whirling in the air. The smell of death, of rot. The red of blood staining pale hands, staining leather boots, staining wooden boards. The heavy thud of a head hitting the ground. Not a human head, never a human head. The twang of a lute, the whistle of a bird, the sound of horses hooves on cobbled stone._

Then they grew longer, more vivid, entire scenes all in which he stands at the forefront of them. And it’s no longer just sights and sounds and smells. It’s feelings too.

_The bottle’s cap comes off and he freezes. Geralt is going to be so mad, he can see it in his eyes already, and by Melitle Jaskier hates it when Geralt is mad at him. As the air crackles with magic, he talks, talks incessantly as he waves his hands about desperate to smooth over his mistake. It doesn’t work, not as Geralt grabs him by the collar and shouts at him, and then he’s choking, on what he cannot say, but this is not how he wants to die. He can’t die, not now, not in front of Geralt. If he wasn’t gagging on his own blood he’d be embarrassed, especially when he is being swept up into the man's arms and dumped onto a horse._

Geralt is one of two constants in all the dreams. When he awakes he cannot remember the man's face, but the name remains. The second thing that appears in all of them is a voice, repeating the same words.

_Watching as his lute is smashed onto the ground, the voice whispers to him softly. “Remember Jaskier. You have a destiny, someone you’re supposed to be. Far from your life, there are answers to be found. Find Geralt. Find the White Wolf.”_

_Standing in a grand hall, staring at a regal looking woman on a throne, the voice calls to him. “Remember Jaskier. You have a destiny, someone you’re supposed to be. Far from your life, there are answers to be found. Find Geralt. Find the White Wolf.”_

_Walking down the side of a mountain, tears drying on his cheeks, a voice speaks to him in a stern tone. “Remember Jaskier. You have a destiny, someone you’re supposed to be. Far from your life, there are answers to be found. Find Geralt. Find the White Wolf.”_

He hasn’t slept since the last one. Logic dictates that at some point he will eventually have to sleep, but Jaskier has never been one for logic. If the weird voice in his dreams wants him fine. They’re gonna have to prize him away from his coffee machine and supply of energy drinks before he succumbs to the bitch that is slee-

“Hello?”

Jaskier freezes from his position on the sofa. There’s someone at the door. Ok, not exactly the most surprising of revelations, but when it’s midnight you’re allowed to be surprised. Slowly, he rises to his feet. His hand hovers over the doorknob.

“I can see your feet under the door. Can you let me in? Your apartment hallway is kinda gross.”

Damn it. His entire body is telling him to ignore it, not to open the door, but… He thinks he has to. Something stronger is telling him that this is important. So he does.

He opens the door and prepares himself.

Standing there is a girl, who can’t be older than her teens. She smiles unreasonably bright at him for midnight on a Thursday, smoothes a hand over white-blond hair, sticks it out for him to shake.

“Good evening. My name is Fiona. And you must be Jaskier.”

He takes a step back, and some of the horror he's feeling must show on his face because the girl is stepping forward with a concerned expression.

“Are you ok?’

No. No, he’s not. Because she’s the voice. She is _**the**_ voice. He laughs, and the sound comes out tinged with hysteria.

“Shit.”

And then he’s falling and the girl startles, trying to catch him. She fails, and the second to last thing he thinks before his head hits the ground is that he’s twice Ciri’s size so there was no way she’d have been able to do it, but it’s nice that she tried.

The actual last thing he thinks is where he got the name Ciri, but then the darkness takes him and everything is calm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Shuffles awkwardly into the room* Hi guys. Sorry it's been just,, so long. I got distracted by another Witcher fanfiction (check it out, it's called Off The Mountain Path and it's basically just angst at this point). so I neglected my original son. I hope this comeback chapter is ok, I seem to have forgotten to remove my angst state of mind from the other fic, so it kinda just bled into this. Sad Jaskier is just very easy and interesting to write. 
> 
> Hope you're all doing ok in this time of our lord Coronapocalypse. Surprisingly my life has not changed at all because I'm homeschooled, which means that instead of having more time to write things like this, now i get to listen to my family enjoying themselves while I look into the history of the NHS. Feel free to comment about your quarantine experience, let me know what I'm missing out.


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